


What Friends Are For

by moxandpop (witchylock)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2442008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchylock/pseuds/moxandpop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock's friendship is a little unconventional.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Friends Are For

It just sort of… _happened_.

Neither of them really care to recall how or why or when it happened because, in Sherlock’s words, it was tedious. It simply didn't matter. Why poison pleasure with thought?

And there was plenty of pleasure to poison.

Especially when John ran this calloused thumb over the slick head of Sherlock’s cock in a way that made the detective’s body tremble. He’d arch and his head would tip back to show the pale column of his throat and John would just smile. Sherlock was always so wound up and it was a delight to unravel him. The doctor could undo all his knots until he had him completely taut and stiff, ready to snap. John wound him up just as much as he unravelled him in the end.

But Sherlock wasn't guiltless. No, once he was done, chest heaving as his shirt stuck just a little tighter to his damp chest, pushed up above his navel from when John had untucked it, it was John’s turn.

Sherlock preferred John laying down so the blond could see exactly what he did, so he could groan at the sight of the head of his cock disappearing in the detective's fist as Sherlock squeezed and tugged and coaxed him to orgasm, because, just like everything else, it was all about Sherlock in the end. John gave Sherlock pleasure readily and eagerly while the detective took the pleasure of making John writhe.

Sometimes it was just little things he’d do, something he’d say. A twist of the wrist or a murmur of, “ _You’re going to come so hard I bet you’ll hit my chin_ ," could have the good doctor arching as he desperately gripped at the couch’s fabric.

And other times, it was big things. Like when Sherlock leaned down without warning to slurp at the head of John’s cock simply because “it was making a mess”.

But really, if John were to be honest, the detective could look at him a certain way and he’d writhe. But Sherlock was simply repaying him, it was only fair that John got to writhe after having wound Sherlock so very tight, pulled him taught and then let him go. It was a fair trade of pleasure that left them both happy and absolutely sated.

Perhaps that’s not exactly what friends are for, but Sherlock and John didn't seem to mind breaking the mould one bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally submitted to ilovemyjawn on tumblr. It's really short, but I was really eager to post something, anything, to this account. 
> 
> Look at my baby. So sweet.


End file.
